Iron Maiden
by PhaerynTao
Summary: The terms which Master Cyclonis comes to before her eternal departure.


a/n: No relation to the band, seriously. Haha.

I honestly thought a primitive form of execution would fit Cyclonis best. I don't know why. Many themes in this, but have no fear; the elusive ones are kind of insignificant.

This for me symbolizes the few people in my life who have helped me to keep going, whether they're in my real life or on here. My perpetual thanks to them.

I don't own the Storm Hawks.

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At first the thought of her death terrified her.

Cyclonis sat in her jail cell until the hearing, knowing that they would execute her, and she silently tore herself up inside for being so easily caught. Atmos had wanted her head on a platter for years, and finally they would get their bloody desires. Her fingernails scraped against the rough walls, hating the way her brain was clenching in fear, desperation, and just plain poison.

She didn't want to die. She wasn't ready to die. She missed the smoothness of her throne and her low precarious tone that she used with all of her disciples. Before the hearing, her brooding self clung to the living world like a little girl who didn't want her daddy to go away to battle.

The pain barely registered when she bit down on her wrist to make sure that she was still alive, that they hadn't taken her away yet.

As she was escorted to her cell, her path was lined with Atmosians.

Very aggravated, pissed off Atmosians.

They shouted at her as she passed them by, their spit landing on her pale cheeks and their intense insults out of complete honesty entering through her ears and rattling inside her skull.

Why had she just stood there like a deer in the headlights in her throne room?

_Why_?

Why couldn't she have used her crystals to zap all of them into oblivion?

Why couldn't she have at least _run_?

Such an easy way out, but at least she wouldn't have to feel that revolting redhead's hands tying her up with thick coarse ropes, or listened to her mouth emitting harsh animalistic cries like she was being skinned and prepared to be cooked. In the cell she wondered why she threw such a childish fit, why she grated her hands against the floor before both Aerrow and Piper had pulled her arms behind her back and fastened her wrists together.

It was probably because the Dark Ace stood among the wretched squadron, staring at her capture with an expression of numb fascination.

What ran through that man's mind, Cyclonis wondered, while she writhed on the floor like an eel in a sink about to be gutted and cleaned in that throne room?

It half disgusted her that he did nothing to assist her as rough hands flew into each crevice of her clothing, revealing crystals and other weapons that could have been used to attain her freedom. By the end of the seizure she was left without much of her clothes, and she felt nearly naked under two pairs of confident green and tangerine eyes.

Were they enjoying this, she wondered?

Did they feel the cocky swell of victory as they brought Atmos's greatest villain to her knees at last?

By the cuff of her form fitting black suit, a thoroughly bound Cyclonis was dragged away by the Storm Hawks, the last sight of her regime nothing but her obsidian haired trusty right hand gazing emotionlessly back at her and the obliteration of her fortress.

She had held that man to her chest; let him listen to her heart beat steadily as it pumped warm human blood through each vein.

And then he let her be taken away to Atmosia, where she would be sentenced.

They fetched her from the cell finally.

It was time for her hearing.

It was obvious that this was all one big fucking formality. She didn't deserve a hearing. She barely deserved to speak. It would have been more fitting if they had just taken one thick piece of tape and plastered it across her thin pale lips.

The courtroom was gorgeous. The intricate wooden molding climbed up the walls and up onto the ceiling.

It had to be for the criminals. To let them think that they might have a chance at happiness still, even after all that they have done. Cyclonis's eyes stayed stationary the entire time, darting only to those who spoke at first before turning downward to look at her upper body in a thick straitjacket.

Everyone was there. Every squadron, a few civilians who had taken it upon themselves to look upon the felon of their era, and naturally the Sky Knight council. They stared at her, silently berating her with their bespectacled gazes.

The wooden gavel rang through the air, and everyone was quiet.

Cyclonis's blood ran colder than normal. She was still afraid to die.

But like hell she would let them know that. As far she was concerned, she was still Master Cyclonis and she'd kill them all without blinking.

She stood behind an altar close to where the authorities sat.

The lead of the council spoke, a bite in his voice.

"Do you know why you are here?" He asked.

"Naturally, and so do you. But what about the rest of these fine people, I'm sure they'd like you to spell it out for them." Cyclonis said as her upper lip curled into a sneer.

"Conceited until the end, aren't you Cyclonis?" The lead council member smirked.

"Ladies and Gentlemen of this fine courtroom, I present to you the cause of all of our peril right here in front of you, tied down and confined like the swine she is."

Murmurs of approval drifted through the jury and witnesses.

"Now, I'll read you your crimes, _Deinon._"

How _dare _they use her true name in front of all these people. Cyclonis felt the acid in her stomach bubble and boil like she was about to vomit and die of shame.

"Don't call me by that hideous name!" She hissed.

"You are in no position to demand anything!" The council leader bellowed while smacking his hand hard down onto the wooden counter.

She silenced herself vocally, but her glare barely faltered.

How could they know her real name, _how_?

As far as she knew, only Dark Ace was allowed to utter it.

"Your sentencing will be based on numerous counts of murder, invasion, misuse of crystals-"

She was a genius at crystals.

"The illegal enslavement of various terras-"

And _god _they were useful.

"Harmful experiments involving sentient beings-"

Each slave was well picked for the purpose.

"And last but not least, the termination of several Sky Nights and their squadrons. One of which…"

Don't _say _it.

"Had gone to your side, only to come crawling back. And only through him were we able to complete your arrest."

Cyclonis felt Dark Ace behind her in the crowd of witnesses. She never had to look at him to know he was there.

He was amongst them, somewhere, his bloody scarlet eyes burning into her back.

She felt her fists tighten in the straitjacket.

Her mind willed him dead.

Even more so, she willed them both far away, where they would never be found.

He had betrayed her, allowed her to be turned in to these pigs.

His eyes were still staring, burning.

And now, rivulets of ice were running up and down her arteries.

"The sentencing will be shortly decided." The leader said, sitting comfortably in his seat and watching the jury quickly file out with a dismal yet satisfied expression.

They would be back shortly. Cyclonis narrowed her eyes as she inwardly scoffed at the idea of them actually deliberating her case. That privilege just wasn't in the cards for her today; they were probably just going to sneak a quick sip of champagne to celebrate her execution that would come before long.

It was only five minutes that they were gone. Cyclonis took those five minutes to turn around and stare at all of these people who hated her.

Their gazes were hateful, their lips thin and barely controlled from opening, but she didn't care about that.

She was looking for the Dark Ace.

And she found him; in the very last row by a corner.

Their eyes met, violet to crimson.

And this time his face was not entirely emotionless. His eyes glimmered with something that she could not identify at this distance. She tried to communicate with the trembling of her irises, asking him to fetch her from this damned altar and they would both flee from this quandary.

After a few seconds he looked away and stared at the wall.

Instead of hearing the silent pleas of his master.

Cyclonis looked forward again, once again feeling the gruesome stab of abandonment.

The young fallen ruler fought the urge to cry. The thought of death was not on her mind anymore. Her protector, her friend, the object of her unspoken affections had turned away from her.

She stood at that alter, hiding her face behind her dark curtain of black-purple hair, a stony statue who felt nothing to the others.

The jury came back out. Their cheeks were tinged red. A sign of a minor celebration.

"We find Deinon of Terra Cyclonia guilty."

A roar of applause and mirthful shouting erupted through the courtroom.

"Very well." The council leader said above the noise, gesturing to the prisoner escorts.

They were saying her real name to weaken her. When she was younger she always cherished that name. It fit her well. It sounded pretty. Back in the days when she liked being a pretty little girl.

Having been called Master Cyclonis so long, she found her old name repulsive, dripping in filth.

A reminder that she was once a person, not an icon for a fiery chariot.

The escorts took her back to her cell. Before they locked her in, she asked them:

"When am I to be executed?"

She knew they hadn't told her in the courtroom because for her to know was apparently a privilege. She was not allowed to have privileges.

The escorts glanced at each other, obviously wondering if they should divulge such information to a criminal like her.

"Tomorrow morning." One of them said quietly.

She thought about asking how she would die, but she figured she wouldn't push her luck.

They locked her in her cell and left. She knew the schedule; they would be back later with food. And it would be her last meal.

The first half of the evening her thoughts resided with Dark Ace.

His face, his long muscular neck; how they both tensed when he looked in the other direction after she wordlessly asked for help.

What was his purpose for doing something so resentful? Why did he look the other way? Why was he in the crowd of the people that she thought he hated just as much as she did? _Why _did he just stand there as those repellant Storm Hawks tied her up like a branded cow?

Why did _he _get off easy when she was about to be put to death? As far as she was concerned his crimes were just as bad. There had to be some kind of underhanded negotiation that took place between Dark Ace and the Atmosian authorities.

His freedom for hers.

Cyclonis wiped her eyes that threatened to spill.

They both could've kept their freedom. Together.

She couldn't bear the thought of him actually hating her deep down. They had been through too much for him to hate her.

He had been the one to call her Deinon on a regular basis, when the right timing called for it. Coming from his lips, she found she still liked it as much as she did when she was young.

Another possibility came to mind.

What if he had truly changed his ideology, and he handed her over out of his own flipped belief that he was finally doing the right thing?

Possibilities played over and over through the young woman's head. They all were so disgusting and hurtful that after a while she decided that she would rather think about her own demise.

Would it be by injection, in which they would infuse liquidated eruption crystals into her blood stream? Her insides would be completely disintegrated. Of course, that was for the common criminals. And it was quite merciful, if one thought about it. In that case, death was instant and nearly painless.

Perhaps something more primitive was planned for her.

Like a hanging. Burning. Drowning.

Cyclonis never liked water too much.

The hours passed. Day turned into night.

She drifted away from Dark Ace, and the crystal virtuoso began to accept her approaching death.

The sun would rise and make the clouds red.

The people would line her path once again.

They would shout profanities and spit in her hair.

For some reason, Cyclonis smiled at the thought.

Usually executions were private. But one as epic as hers would be seen by abysmal numbers of the public.

She didn't sleep that night. Not because she was frightened or apprehensive, she just thought it was useless.

One of the guards outside of her cell offered her a tablet that would induce drowsiness when they peeked in through the tiny barred window and saw that she was still awake. She politely declined.

Cyclonis loved Dark Ace; for his loyalty and his refusal to let the regime lose its power.

Deinon loved Dark Ace for his uncanny ability to make her melt into the nape of his neck with just a whisper of his husky voice.

And now, because of him, both names within one body would perish.

She couldn't help but wonder if all of this, somehow, was an act of love.

Probably not. But she could always hope.

Sighing heavily, she kept staring into the undistinguished dark that was her cell. Morning would come soon, she could feel it. And her wish to beat the fear of death by then had started to come true.

The sun did rise, painting the dawning clouds a singeing red. She was ushered to the yard outside of her prison chambers. Foul insults and words of attempted intimidation went through her ears and rattled in her skull, just like before. And their mucus filled spit once again flew through the air and landed on her face and in her hair.

They reached the platform on which her death would be viewed. Upon the platform was a bulky tarnished silver cabinet. Its door was swung open, helping it stand on its own, and inside of it was covered in long sharp crystal spikes.

Cyclonis's eyes went wide, and her mouth could not help but insanely turn upwards.

An iron maiden.

She had only read about those in the grisly story books that her partisans had given her when she was younger. They were torture and murder devices. The condemned would be inside the chamber when they closed the door, impaling them with the spikes attached. They were left to die by blood loss or asphyxiation in the darkness of the enclosure.

The guards led her up the stairs and onto the stage. The crowd cheered. One man from the swarm jumped onto the stage, and began shouting at them.

"Today, the finest justice will take place! Look upon this woman, look at her immorality and her wicked ways! Watch as all of the pain she has caused you melts away at the sight of her very _death_!"

The crowd roared again.

For the first time it struck Cyclonis how much these people despised her.

She wasn't offended, nor did she feel remorse.

It just struck her strangely. She couldn't really tell why.

The guards took her gently by the arms, probably because right now she looked as if the last thing she wanted to do was struggle, and placed her in the cabinet. Before the door closed, she looked out into the crowd and her sharp eyes caught site of some familiar faces.

The Storm Hawks stood together, their appearances grim. Unbeknownst to her, this kind of punishment went against their principles. But what could they do; stand up in front of all these raving lunatics who wanted her dead and say 'C'mon people, lets do this humanely'?

Her Dark Ace was not far away from them, and he looked grimmer than they did.

Cyclonis finally silenced her mind regarding him, and told herself that he still loved her. That way, she could die knowing there was one person in this world who was lamenting not being able to see her again after today. She didn't care about anyone else; as long as she still mattered to him, she could feel her soul breaking and it wouldn't hurt her.

All of this was making her disturbingly inspired. She reached out and touched one of the smooth crystal spikes attached to the inside of the cabinet door, and couldn't help but smile as she identified it as a leecher. The spikes would suck the energy out of her the longer they stayed imbedded in her body.

After the initial stabs, it would be like going to sleep.

How unknowingly lenient they were being.

The guards slammed the door as hard as they could, and Cyclonis could only emit a short gasp as the spikes drove into her torso.

One through her abdomen, one in her breastplate, one in her stomach, and one that would have struck her heart had it been fashioned a little longer. Her lungs struggled to keep air flowing, but soon her inhales and exhales were nothing but short little pants. Warm blood dripped in delicate torrents down her body, soaking what was left of her clothes. Her nerves were firing vaguely, but other than that, it felt like she was simply drifting off to sleep.

It was dark in the chamber, besides the bit of light from the tiny crack in the door. She could hear the screaming and shouting of the crowd outside.

Her last flickering thoughts were fragments of her childhood; her smiles and laughter even when everything around her exuded pure evil and malevolence. Her father's face, wrinkled and creased, grinning at her and showing every single one of his rotten teeth. The feeling of short facial stubble against her soft colorless skin as Dark Ace's lips pressed themselves up against her collarbone on her seventeenth birthday.

Cyclonis's convulsing heart and lungs ceased. A tingling sensation flew across her skin and inside her body, and it felt nice. For her last moments she savored the ambiance, her eyes staying half open and lidded while her mouth curved into the slightest of smiles. The everlasting darkness wrapped itself around her like a blanket that still let some breeze through.

Death was quite kind. But lord, was it cold.


End file.
